


Not Crazy

by PhiraLovesLoki



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2019-09-07 08:33:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16850707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhiraLovesLoki/pseuds/PhiraLovesLoki
Summary: Emma's worked too hard for too long to recover from the delusions that left her young son hospitalized and her institutionalized. So what is she supposed to do when a fictional man from a storybook shows up at her front door?Season 6 finale canon divergence: Hook manages to use the bean to get back to Emma.





	Not Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after the finale, partially out of annoyance. Originally posted only to Tumblr, posting now to AO3.

Emma stared down at the book again, and the nagging panic at the back of her mind continued to grow.

This was  _crazy._

Not just figurative crazy either; this was literally crazy. It was why she’d spent two years in the hospital. It was why she wasn’t allowed to share custody of Henry. It was why she had to leave Storybrooke.

She’d worked so hard to try to save Henry from believing that these fairy tales were true, and she’d failed him twice already. First, by letting him get so desperate that he poisoned himself, and now, by giving him hope and leading him to nearly break his neck.

She shook her head. She should  _never_  have gone on the rooftop with him. It had just convinced him that she was remembering what he was talking about.

But …

No, this was crazy. She had  _not_  remembered anything. She couldn’t have. The illustration she’d seen as the storybook had burned had just given her weird deja vu. That had to be it.

It  _had_  to be it.

Then why had she had that weird feeling on the rooftop? She couldn’t even bring herself to  _think_  it was a memory, because that would just be admitting Henry was right. And admitting Henry was right would mean she was relapsing.

She couldn’t relapse. If she ever wanted to see Henry again, to be able to spend time with him and even have shared custody of him, she  _couldn’t_  relapse. She had to stay strong.

She stared at the illustration of her kissing Henry’s forehead one more time, and then closed the book. She had to get better, and so did Henry. The first step was getting out of Storybrooke. The next step would be to shower, get dressed, and go catch herself a skip. Then she could start feeling normal again.

There was a knock at the door.

Emma frowned. The only people who knew she was back were Fiona, Henry, her old boss, and her old landlord. She couldn’t imagine that any of them would be here right now, except maybe the landlord, but he’d always been totally hands off in the past.

As she put her hand on the doorknob, she remembered what had happened the last time someone had knocked on her door. She glanced over at the star-shaped candle, which still sat on the counter. She both hoped it was Henry and hoped it wasn’t.

It wasn’t.

It was a man with dark hair, bright blue eyes, and a desperate expression. And unbelievably, he was dressed … like a pirate. He even had a hook for a hand.

Whoa.

Wait.

The illustration.

It was the guy whose picture she’d seen in the storybook. It was the guy whose face she’d briefly thought she’d imagined when she’d stood on that rooftop.

There was only one explanation: she was delusional now. She was seeing things.

“Emma?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know you,” she said quickly, trying to shut the door.

“Emma, please, wait.”

“No!”

This was it. She was never going to be free of all this. She was going to have to go back to the doctors and have them quietly and kindly talk to her about long-term facilities, and give her those soft, sympathetic looks as they discussed new medications. Emma Swan’s life would continue as it began: as a ward of the state.

She didn’t even make it to the living room before she couldn’t walk. She just slumped down on the ground, back against the door, and cried.

She would never see Henry again. Even if he got better, she’d always be deemed too much of a risk for them to see each other. She’d be lucky if they’d even be allowed to call or write to each other.

It just wasn’t fair. Maybe her life hadn’t been  _amazing_  before Henry had come into it, but she’d been fine. And then she’d had a son, and now he was gone again. It was just as awful as when she’d given him up in the first place.

But she had to give him his best chance, and now, that would  _never_  mean a life with her in it.

“Emma, please.” The man was still outside. “Please, can we talk?”

“No!” she shouted.

“Please. Please, Emma. I–” He stopped talking, and for one hopeful moment, she thought he was giving up. “I can’t believe this has happened again.”

Oh, god, he was crying. Not like she was, but she could hear the tears in his voice.

“I don’t know what to say,” he continued, “that could possibly convince you to open this door. But I’m not leaving. I can’t. I can’t leave you.”

“I’m not crazy,” she choked out. “I can’t go back there. Please, I just want to get better.”

“You’re  _not_  crazy.” She heard him move, and then his voice came from lower down. “You are  _not_  crazy, love. I swear to you.”

“You can’t be real.”

“I am. You aren’t mad, Swan. I’m real. It’s all real.”

It couldn’t be real. She  _knew_  it wasn’t real. Magic and dragons and Snow White and Captain Hook and True Love’s Kiss–Henry had bought into it because he was a kid, and she’d started to believe because it was easier than the truth. That she’d been abandoned, that she had no family, that she was alone.

“One of your first friends was a girl named Lily,” the man said softly. She froze. “She helped you steal from the market, and you thought she was just like you. But she’d been adopted by loving parents, and when they found her, you couldn’t forgive her.”

“How do you know that?” She hadn’t even told Henry that. The only person who could  _possibly_  know about Lily was Lily.

“When you were fourteen, you were nearly adopted by a woman named Sarah Fisher.”

“Stop.”  _And_  he knew about Sarah? How? Had he been stalking her?

“I know you love cinnamon on your hot cocoa, and that you hate wearing socks to bed even though your feet get cold.” He’d regained some of his composure before, but he was losing it again. “And you always smile at your own jokes, and you love drinking lemonade in the summertime, and you wish that you could have more children.”

He took a deep breath. “And you make everything better. Everything you touch, you bring light to. It’s who you are, and I’ll be damned if  _anyone_  convinces you otherwise.”

He was crying in earnest now, and so was she. How did he  _know_  all of this? A delusion would know this stuff, because it would just be her own brain.

But what she’d seen on the rooftop had been  _before_  she’d seen the page in the storybook.

What did she have to lose? If he wasn’t real, then she was delusional  _anyway._  She’d failed, and failing more couldn’t hurt. She stood, legs shaking almost violently, and opened the door.

The man was crouching down, hand up, like he was trying to caress her through the door. He bolted upwards so quickly she had to take a step back. She wasn’t sure what to say.  _Come in, I guess,_  felt a little underwhelming. So she just gestured for him to come inside. Better than letting any of her neighbors hear or see any more than they already had.

He looked around the apartment, almost with wonder, before his eyes fell to the counter. He picked up the candle almost reverently. “You told me about this,” he whispered. “How you wished that you wouldn’t be alone on your birthday, and then Henry showed up immediately after that. You always wondered if it had been magic that brought him to you.”

She wanted to tell him magic wasn’t real, but what was the point?

He looked up at her. “I don’t know how to bring your memories back. The last time I tried didn’t end well for me.”

“The last time?” He’d said,  _I can’t believe this has happened again._  He nodded. “What happened the last time?”

“You and Henry were in New York. I was tasked to retrieve you and bring you back to Storybrooke. I had a vial of memory potion, but just enough for one person, so I hoped that I could bring your memories back a different way so we could use the potion on Henry.”

“What was the different way?”

He blushed, and his jaw clenched. “I kissed you.”

It was her turn to blush. True Love’s Kiss.

He cleared his throat. “It resulted in your distrust and a well-earned knee to my privates.” Just the way he said it struck her funny, and even in the midst of everything, she had to chuckle. He smiled sadly. “Emma, I don’t know what to tell you.”

What  _could_  he tell her? She glanced down at the hook; Henry had said she’d married Captain Hook, so clearly her brain thought that this was her husband. All the stuff he was saying, minus the New York memory potion stuff, was stuff she knew already.

She wanted proof. Proof either that he wasn’t real, or that he was. What could he tell her that she wouldn’t already know? “Tell me your name.”

“Killian Jones,” he said, without hesitation.

Killian.

It rippled through her, the beautiful familiarity of the name. She glanced down at his hand, which rested on the counter, and the simple silver band he wore on his ring finger.

She held up her left hand and stared at the bare ring finger. Should she remember the weight of rings there?

He seemed to realize what she was thinking about, and he slowly walked over to her. He raised an eyebrow questioningly, and she ached at the expression.

She was crazy. He couldn’t be familiar. She couldn’t know him. She couldn’t have just  _forgotten_  about marrying someone.

But the moment on the rooftop lingered: standing across from him, seeing his face smiling down at her, professing their love and exchanging rings.

The wedding band on his hand was warm from the heat of his body.

In those years in Storybrooke, she’d never imagined anything. She’d never hallucinated. Even when she’d secretly go off her meds, nothing like this ever happened. She’d never dreamt up a whole person, so real she could touch them.

If this was her hallucinating, then she’d never see Henry again. She was lost to the fantasy world forever.

But what if Henry was right?

If Henry was right, then he was in  _danger_. If Henry was right, then she had a  _family_  that needed her. If Henry was right, this man in front of her was her own  _husband._

“If I’m not crazy,” she said, and she swallowed hard. “If I’m not crazy, then how do I remember?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I’m willing to try anything.”

“Not  _anything.”_  

“Aye,  _anything._  Emma … I love you. I know you don’t remember that I do, or how  _much_  I do, but it’s true.”

"Enough to risk a knee to the crotch?” she joked.

He chuckled, but his eyes lit up. “Would you permit me to try?”

Oh, god, he was asking to kiss her. And she’d been the one to accidentally suggest it. Should she let him?

 _Yes._  Something inside her said  _yes._  She nodded.

Her first thought as his lips met hers was that for a potential hallucination, he was a damn good kisser.

Her second thought was that she was still holding his hand loosely, like his wedding band was an anchor.

Her third thought was to wonder what had happened to her wedding and engagement ring. They were both technically replaceable, but they were  _her rings,_  and you couldn’t just replace something that had sentimental value like that.

Her fourth thought was irritation, because she’d  _really_  been looking forward to the rest of her own damn wedding reception, and she wasn’t sure if it was tacky to ask for a redo.

Oh!

“Killian!”

Except she couldn’t even let him process it. She just had to keep kissing him.

He’d found her. He’d found a way to come back to her and convince her, and she  _wasn’t crazy,_  it was all real and she was the Savior, and he was  _here,_  her husband, against all odds and her own denial–

“Swan. Oh, love–”

“Killian, I–”

“I’m so glad I found you, I–”

“I can’t fucking believe–”

“Thanks for sparing my privates this time.”

She laughed breathlessly at that one. “Oh, god. Oh, wow. Where is everyone else?”

“The Enchanted Forest. I managed to find a magic bean, but … well, I had to use it unexpectedly and couldn’t wait for anyone else.”

She wanted to know  _that_  story, but there was something a little more pressing. “We have to get back to Storybrooke  _now._  The curse is ridiculous; the Black Fairy took over Regina’s life and everyone thinks she’s Henry’s adoptive mother.”

“We saw,” he said gravely. “We were able to see through some mirrors; it’s how we knew you were being held in the hospital.” She blanched at that. “Rest assured, love, I will be filleting that fairy with my hook in short order for what she did to you.”

“I’m more worried about what she’s going to do to Henry. She pushed him down some stairs and nearly killed him.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Yeah, let me just get my bag. You can tell me about the bean in the car. I bet  _that’s_  a good story.”

He smiled. “Aye. It is.” He kissed her one more time. “And I believe that you, of all people, will appreciate it.”

She wasn’t sure what he was getting at, but she  _was_  sure about one thing:

She wasn’t crazy. And the Black Fairy was going to pay for making her think she had been.


End file.
